


Two Roads Diverged

by Geenee27



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 08:18:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11665221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27
Summary: Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson is hoping his new life in Sydney will leave some ghosts behind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a favourite poem by Robert Frost, 'The Road Not Taken', that I carry in my wallet. It speaks to me about choosing our own path, not just following the crowd, and how it shapes our lives. I find the notion of fate fascinating and it was in my mind when writing this story for the July trope 'Out of Time and Space'. Might have played fast and loose with the theme of the trope. ;)
> 
> Huge thanks and hugs to @ollyjayonline and @solitarycyclist for reviewing my work. My unsung heroes.

Senior Detective Inspector John (Jack) Robinson leaned back in his chair, laced his long fingers together in his lap and looked around his office at City South police station for the last time.  
He was a stoic, serious man by nature, shaped from the heavy weight of experiences lived; but as he regarded the scuffed walls and slightly battered furniture in an enclave that had served him well for many years he could not help but feel a little saddened.

City South was the only home he had known as a police officer. This was where he had been assigned after the academy, a shiny, new, naive constable; so much so he shudders now at the memory. Nevertheless, the determined constable had worked hard, observed, listened and learned, and soon realized that he had found his place in this world. Especially after the horrors of war, where he had felt so helpless watching man's inhumanity to man. Wearing a police uniform had offered a chance to change that helpless feeling to a degree and Jack hoped that he had, at the very least, made a nominal difference in the lives of those who deserved justice and some peace.

There was no doubt he would miss the men here and the city of Melbourne. However, his new assignment in Sydney would mean a fresh start, something he thought would be good for him. The intervening years after the war to end all wars had not been particularly happy ones personally, what with his wife Rosie having moved out some time ago and pursuing divorce. In fact he had just been served with the preliminary papers; reality was setting in and he was trying to come to terms with the fact that the marriage was truly over. Jack was also an introspective and sensitive person and as he did with many things, felt this deeply. He was wont to blame himself over a failed marriage that had seemingly begun to fall apart as soon as he stepped off a troop ship in 1919.

A relocation also seemed an advantageous solution to another issue, that of his immediate superior being Deputy Commissioner George Sanderson, Rosie's father. The connection was a source of embarrassment for Jack and he assumed it must have felt the same to George. Adding to this difficult situation was the fact Rosie was discreetly seeing someone. Yes, he thought, his move to Sydney was good for everyone concerned.

Jack sighed as he stood up; he retrieved a cardboard box from the floor beside his desk and started to pack away the few personal items he had decorated his office with over the years. There were the athletic awards and trophies, collected from various police association competitions. His Masonic certificate hanging beside the old black safe behind his desk; the police academy class photograph hanging over the bookshelf just inside the door. There was the beautiful fountain pen set given to him by his parents when he made sergeant; the scrimshaw given to him by his Uncle Ted, a souvenir of the older man's travels. Jack wistfully thought of his uncle, a true adventurer. Where had his own similar spirit gone, he ruminated, not for the first time, the one he had had as a young lad.

Jack went through the desk drawers. Other than his old biscuit tin, empty but for a few crumbs, there was not a great deal to sort through. All of his ongoing cases had been distributed to various other detectives at the station. The powers that be had not hired his replacement as yet, but had appointed City Central's Senior Sergeant Grossmith as interim supervisor until a suitable candidate could be found. Jack's forehead furrowed as he pondered this. Grossmith would not have been his choice; he found the man coarse and there was just something about him that did not sit right. However, George Sanderson had vouched for the man so on his head be it, although Jack was loath to leave his station in the hands of the man.

The last items Jack removed were a couple of envelopes lying on the corner of his desk. One contained a letter of offer from the New South Wales Police Force, Metropolitan Division, for the position of Chief Detective Inspector in Sydney. In 1928, the so-called Razor Gang Wars were raging in Sydney, with criminals using the straight razor as their weapon of choice. The NSW Police Force were aggressively recruiting, needing to bolster their ranks so as to put an end to the violence. There was also scuttlebutt about the formation of a new branch called the Criminal Investigation Branch (CIB) from the existing Detective Branch. Jack found the potential of this new venture interesting; saying that, he could not deny there was some trepidation – he worried that he could be sacrificing time in the field, where he found the work most satisfying, for far too much time spent at a desk.

The other letter was from the Chief Commissioner of Police, Victoria, approving Jack's request for transfer. The Commissioner had attempted, on a number of occasions, to convince Jack to change his mind. He liked the Detective Inspector, known as a stickler perhaps but fair, and did not want to lose one of his best men. Reluctantly he had finally approved the transfer, sympathetic to the pressures Jack must have been under working for his former father-in-law.

Jack placed the letters into the cardboard box, then proceeded to shrug on his overcoat and don his fedora. With a square of his shoulders, he hefted the box and carried it out into the main reception area. The only person manning the front desk this morning was a relatively new constable Jack had worked with a few times, Hugh Collins. Sergeant Grossmith and the other scheduled constables had been called out on a case earlier. Jack set the box on the counter and turned to Hugh.

“I am off now, Constable, please let Sergeant Grossmith know he can reach me at home for the next couple of days if needed.” Jack then handed over his set of keys to the station. 

“Yes Sir.” Collins hesitated nervously. “And... I....ah... may I say Sir, I....I have enjoyed working for you... very much. I wish you success in Sydney.”

“Thank you, Collins. Keep you head down, you have the makings of a very fine police officer.”

Hugh reddened slightly, appreciating the kind words. He had been fairly terrified of the Inspector in the beginning but acknowledged that he learned a great deal in their short time working together. 

Jack did not have many regrets, but he had looked forward to mentoring this young constable. He was very green to be sure, but he was intelligent, dedicated to the work and empathetic to the people who needed their help. He would make a good officer. 

Jack extended his arm and they shook hands goodbye. Then Jack lifted the box and walked determinedly out of the door. He did not look back but walked to his motorcar, placed the cardboard carton in the back seat and slid into the driver’s seat.


	2. Chapter 2

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson started up his car and was about to put it into gear when the front door to City South police station flew open and Collins anxiously appeared, searching the street. The Constable spied the Inspector's motorcar and jogged around to the driver's open window. Jack raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at him.

“Inspector!” he said. “Telephone call for you.”

Jack huffed and rolled his eyes, he really did not want to have to walk back into the station. “Do you know who it is Constable?”

“Commissioner Henderson, sir.”

Jack frowned, reluctantly turned the engine off, climbed out of the motorcar and followed Collins back into the building. As it was the Commissioner and probably required privacy, he decided to take the call in his former office. _Probably just calling to say goodbye _, thought Jack.__

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Jack returned to his old office, closed the door and seated himself as he waited for Hugh to transfer the call through. When the telephone rang, Jack picked up the handset. “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” he identified himself.

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“Jack, Gerald Henderson here, glad I was able to catch you. I know you are due to leave for Sydney in a few days, but we have bit of a delicate situation. I'm hoping you would consider a delay of a day or two to give us a hand.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. The commissioner was intimating that he had an actual choice in the matter; experience told him otherwise. The use of 'we' implied that he would be letting down his brother 'coppers' if he declined. And there was the fact that Jack owed the man for approving his transfer.

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The Commissioner did not pause for a response. “The case that Grossmith attended this morning, it seems there might be a question of it being a suspicious death. The family is well known in certain social circles and highly connected. The wife sits on various charity boards. Hell, one of her society matron friends sits on the hospital board with Edna and the woman called me directly.” Edna, Jack knew, was the commissioner’s wife. 

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Jack groaned inwardly and shook his head. _Oh God, this is going to be a political nightmare. ___

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The Commissioner continued to plead his case. “I can't have Grossmith leading this, Jack, he doesn't have your tact and professional presence. I need my best man on it. Someone who can soothe some ruffled feathers while getting the case resolved quickly.”

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Jack's shoulders fell and he was tempted to lean his forehead on the red leather blotter on the top of the desk.

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“Yes, sir, I will head over to the scene as soon as possible.”

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“Thanks Jack, keep me informed.” The telephone went dead.

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Jack looked dumbly at the receiver in his hand and resignedly replaced it on the base. He scrubbed his hands down his face. City South seemed determined not to let him go just yet.

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He got up from the chair and headed to the main reception area for the second time that morning.

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“Collins!”

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“Sir.”

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“Please get a hold of Grossmith, he should still be at the scene, and tell him I need him to return to the station immediately. And tell him to bring one of the junior constables back here with him.”

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_Grossmith will probably question this_ , Jack knew, _officially, I am not the senior officer here any longer_. If need be he would drop the Commissioner's name to get the sergeant to comply.

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True to form, Grossmith objected strenuously to his being removed from the scene. Jack tried to reason respectfully with him, explaining the scope of the political quagmire involved; but the Sergeant would not have it and continued to protest, barely trying to hide his contempt. Jack finally held up a hand to silence the man, reminded the Sergeant that he still outranked him and glared at him until he wisely ceased his grumbling. 

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_I'll be shot of this do-gooder soon enough _, Grossmith sneered.__

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With the Sergeant and a constable now in place to man the station, Jack turned to Hugh.

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“Constable, please bring the car around. I'll meet you out front.”

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“Yes Sir.” Hugh was pleased to be accompanying the Inspector one more time and he hurried to the police garage in back.

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Jack then patted his jacket pocket to make sure his notebook and pen were in place and headed towards the station's front door. As he reached for the handle he stopped and turned back, trying to remember something.

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“Sergeant, I'll need that address you were called out to this morning.”

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Grossmith rattled off the street and number. Then added,

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“Yeah, the Andrews place.”

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***** 

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Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson slammed through the City South police station's front doors, angrily doffed his hat and strode towards his former office. Luckily it was unoccupied at the moment; he could close the door and compose himself. The case had been resolved to the Commissioner's satisfaction but Jack was not a particularly contented man.

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_That woman! The gall, the absolute gall. Thinks she can just hang out her shingle and call herself a detective. Socialite thinks this is a game. A game! Well I'm not playing. If she so much as sets a fingernail near my crime scenes she will hear it – at full throttle. ___

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Jack sloughed off his overcoat, practically threw it at the clothes rack, slammed his fedora down on the top and dropped into the chair behind the desk. He let out a long breath and rubbed his brow. Suddenly he remembered the half full bottle of whiskey that he had left for the next chap in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. As he was now officially off the clock and no longer with the Victoria Police, he went to retrieve it and a slightly chipped tumbler and returned to the desk to pour himself a generous splash. It sloshed over the rim and joined the champagne that he had spat out on his suit jacket sleeve earlier that day. He took a hefty gulp and enjoyed the burn down the back of his throat. Then he froze as his thoughts from a moment ago came back to him.

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_Wait a minute, I won't be here. Any crime scene she tries to barge into in the future will not be mine _. Jack gave a small chuckle. _I pity the poor sod who replaces me, he has no idea he is about to be hit by a freight train. _____

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Jack quietly contemplated this and poured himself another splash. _Well, not my headache _, he thought as his face became impassive once again. He continued to sit there for some time comfortably resting his elbows on the desk, glass in hand, staring straight ahead, lost in thought. The shadows from the window blinds to his left grew longer as the sun lowered in the sky. As they travelled across the desk he did not stir, just sipped his whiskey.__

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Finally he raised his head, tilted it a little and picked up the telephone handset.

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Late that evening, Jack lounged in his leather armchair - bare feet up on the ottoman, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a tea cup swallowed up in one of his large hands. Robert Frost's book 'Mountain Interval' lay open face down across his lap. He looked around at the disarray in his study: books lay in piles here and there, packing boxes were stacked or lying open, newspapers for wrapping valuables spread across a desk. In his other hand he held an envelope, the edge of which he tapped quietly on his right thigh. After awhile he placed the tea cup on a side table, opened up the envelope, and extracted a letter from inside it. He read it again and then leaned over and tossed it and the envelope into the fire that was burning brightly in the grate.

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Jack retrieved his tea cup, settled back and brought it to his lips. If you had been occupying the matching chair opposite the Detective Inspector that evening and looked closely you might have caught a slight gleam in his eye and seen the right hand corner of his mouth straighten a little.

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**Author's Note:**

> The Road Not Taken  
> Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963 
> 
> Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
> And sorry I could not travel both  
> And be one traveller, long I stood  
> And looked down one as far as I could  
> To where it bent in the undergrowth;
> 
> Then took the other, as just as fair,  
> And having perhaps the better claim,  
> Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
> Though as for that the passing there  
> Had worn them really about the same,
> 
> And both that morning equally lay  
> In leaves no step had trodden black.  
> Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
> Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
> I doubted if I should ever come back.
> 
> I shall be telling this with a sigh  
> Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
> Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—  
> I took the one less travelled by,  
> And that has made all the difference.


End file.
